Burdens
by Little Moppet
Summary: All futures are possible. The universe offers limitless options. Here are some of them. Only a slight cross over
1. The Burden Of Fair Women

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Fair Women

"Gorram hell! Woman, I though I told you I'd best never be seeing you again!"

Of the all the things for the 'verse to throw at him it would have to be her. Again. Her.

Same sunset coloured hair and amber eyes. Same knowing glare and curving lip. The hair is streaked with paler strands now, almost white and the treacherous lips are now paler. She's still lovely and undoubtedly venomous.

"Hello Mal."

It's been year, a decade and a half, at least, since their last encounter.

"Don't you hello me!"

He's in a docking station orbiting Lumos, as far away from civilization as one can get. Of all people he gotta is…well it would just be his luck for it to be her. She slides the beer across the counter to him. It's a practiced motion and he wonders how long she's been a barmaid. He smile is still that smile that swindled him twice.

"Not like I planned on seein' you again either. Dragged myself to this whole, respectable businesswoman now."

He looks around surprised and click in his head that this is her place. Stranger things have happened.

They eye each other warily, cowboys ready to square off. In some minute instant it dawns on him that they are no longer enemies. He grumbles.

"I'd have thought you'd be spending you later years in some nice alliance jail."

She laughs, and the youthful crystalline quality of it is at odds with her face, beautiful still, but clearly marked by the passage of time.

"Could say the same for you. Thought you'd have gotten yourself dead by now."

The beer goes down smooth and ice cold.

"Can't say I haven't been trying."

They stay silent a while. Mal's eyes sweep the tavern and its rugged patrons. He notices a less than legal exchange in the corner. Her eyes laugh at him.

"Old habits…you miss the heists Mal?"

Her tone is mocking, but soft. He lets the remarks go, if he were to answer he would reveal too much of himself. And if he learned one thing from Saffron it was never, ever trust her with any information.

"Gotta say, never figured you for a bar maid."

Her eyes grow cold for an instant and then the studied smile is back. He forgets she's had companion training.

"A proprietor of a respectable establishment."

He smirks and raises his glass to her.

"Sure." He is going to say something biting, it may even be witty. Somehow it doesn't come out. " Just never saw you settlin'."

He drinks until the last drop of foam slides into his mouth. He nods to her and lays his money on the bar.

"People change."

Her words catch him unawares, but he smirks companionably.

"Be seein ya, Saffron."

She doesn't tell him she stopped using that name long ago. She watches him walk away. A fight is breaking out in one corner and picking up a broom she moves to stop the idiots before they destroy her bar. A couple of good thwacks and they're back to buying drinks for each other.

There is a lot they could say to each other, she and Mal. But what she doesn't say, never will not even to herself, is that beauty fades and flesh looses its suppleness and then a girl has nothing to trade.


	2. The Burden Of Bought Kisses

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Bought Kisses

The Training House is always full. The masses part for her and bow and smile. She smiles, full of grace and light.

She has always been a woman who didn't like complications. She had made her choice and stood by it.

Neverminding the loneliness. Or maybe minding, but never voicing it. Not even to herself.

She's been busy. Mundane things fill her mind and by the time she lays herself to sleep she it too tired to contemplate what-ifs. She is a woman who has achieved much. Ambition, her own, had surprised her. But it was a tool to keep together in the beginning. A safety net now, which she dares not let go.

Her servant waits by the entrance, curtains drawn apart.

"My Lady, the assembly is ready."

Out of all the arduous tasks that are hers as House Mistress, this one is her favourite. This is her favourite time of year. Twenty odd novices have been brought to the meeting hall. She must greet them.

The children quieten when she glides in. They are astounded by her beauty and her grace and awed not only by her but by the tall golden pillars and ornate carvings on the walls. They're just little girls, nine years old, full of wonderment and apprehension. Most of them gape with their mouths open. She wants to laugh and comfort them, only she smiles radiantly and fold herself neatly on the ground in front of them. They follow her suite, trying to imitate her graceful movement. They're precious. She wants to take them all into her arms and tell them that soon this place will feel like home. Instead, she speaks softly of graces and comforts, empty words to nine year old girls, but the point is her lulling voice and not so much the words. They begin to smile and she notices their bodies relaxing, letting them flow with her story.

There's a little girl with blue-grey eyes and dark curly hair who keep peeping at Inara from under her veil. She's got a sly and mischievous smile.

She wonders if hers and Ma's daughter would have looked like that.

Inara Serra is woman who does not like complications. She's made her bed, and she does lie in it.


	3. The Burden Of Sweet Speeches

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Sweet Speeches

You tell her not to worry. Not to fear. Some days she believes you. Mostly when you can't bring yourself to believe. You say everything'll be all right. It will work out. Somehow you'll muddle through.

Sometimes it turns out like you say.

You've become good at spinning a yarn to her. So good that she stopped questioning it.

You're so convivial and jolly as to be almost strangers.

People before you survived a tragedy like yours. But for the two of you there had been so many tragedies before that this one broke you.

A child buried. Hope and love buried with him. No coming back.

She seeks her peace in solitude and violence. You seek yours in sweet speeches and occasionally other women. You still bring her flowers. You call her sweetheart and love.

You have family dinners and you let Mal get you drunk and ad with grief because that's the only time you feel anymore. You take off on the shuttle into the night, drunk and delirious with pain. Maybe you're looking for your death too.

She's softer now. Decimated, she moves with the current of the world instead of fighting the tide.

She's the shadow of the woman you loved. And you are hardly a man.

You say conciliatory things as you bandage her arm after another encounter.

You don't say that you fear that soon she'll get her wish and won't come back. Will join your son. Will leave you alone.

Instead you say: "Good as new, honey."

You never call her lamby toes anymore.

You say it's just a minor scratch. Nothing a good sleep won't cure.

She smiles thinly. Nods her head and closes her eyes.

Everything will be all better tomorrow, you say.

And she believes you, knowing full well it will never be true.


	4. The Burden Of Long Living

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Long Living

She lives on a ship of ghosts. The Captain is carrying a torch for some nameless woman and doesn't sleep. The pilot cheats on his wife. And the wife is doing a commendable job of trying to get herself killed. They're echoes, not people. Actors, taking cues from a script. When you live for centuries, when you have always existed in one way or another, it's hard to ignore the signs of an apocalypse coming. And there's one coming here. That's why she's stayed so long. Inexplicably, after forbidding herself to get attached to people she decided to keep watch over these ones.

More often than not their dinner conversations stray to the past. To the people who used to live here and fill the belly of this old heap with laughter. The only smile wistfully when they reminisce. They never laugh.

Dawn is living in a tomb. Desperately trying to raise these dead, who are not dead at all.

No matter that she's been around for almost six centuries and technically longer, she's still that kid who never wanted anyone to leave her.

Living a long life means seeing and understanding. Watching people change and never changing yourself.

She reads them like stories made flesh.

The Captain's tale of loss and loneliness. Zoe's story of sorrow and pain and Wash's ineptitude. There is not much she can do ease their suffering, or to save them.

But tonight she can make something better. And no opportunity is too small or great.

She finds him on the bridge alone with the black. Her young smooth arms are cool against his warm neck. He clutches at her with hunger and she holds him close. For a moment he forgets his thwarted love and finds joy in her.

And if she can give that moment to the Captain then this is a reason for her long, solitary life.


	5. The Burden Of Bright Colours

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Bright Colours

"Ain't that shiny?"

She only says "ain't" in the privacy of their quarters.

She looks with fondness at the capture of them all in front of Serenity's hull. Simon looks up from his book and frowns, smiling. He's the only one who could that. Frown and smile at once.

"Perfect."

He goes back to his book and Kaylee to the capture. Lord, they were young.

There they all are. Her in her favourite overalls, ones with the teddy bear she'd sewn on. Wash in his loud shirts, smiling. Zoe in muted leathers, tall and regal. Inara glowing in maroon silks. Book smiling. Jayne scowling at River and River sticking out her tongue at him. Mal, stoic and tall on her left and Simon, ever be-suited, on her right. Inadvertently her hand runs down the skirt of her blue dress. From canvas to silk. Her eyes skim across the rich carpets and the deep ochre of the sofa. Lavender walls and the striped curtains. Their bed draped in damask from Oberon. Everything cheerful and bright and light and happy. Just like she had wanted. Has spent time choosing. She's surprised at the clenching in her heart.

"Simon?"

He's too engrossed in his book. She repeats herself.

"Simon?"

Careful to place a bookmark, he closes the book and looks at her.

"Yes, dear?"

She sighs overdramatically, like she used to back then when she was the Kaylee of engine grease and teddy bear overalls.

"Do you miss it?"

He looks at her bewildered.

"Miss what?"

The confounded look on his face makes her smile. And sigh.

"Never mind, darling."

She kisses the top of his head lightly and stays long enough for him to open his book again.

"I'll be in the garden."

He doesn't look up.

She walks quickly. The Kaylee of engine grease has not existed for a very long time. She's the Kaylee of the silk dresses now. Of tea parties and soirees full of strawberries and floating chandeliers. She stops abruptly when she finds herself in the gardens. She usually finds them peaceful. But today it's all over bright. The emerald greenery, the start white oleander. The hot pink lilies and the shades of the roses. The bussing of the insects and the glitter of their wings reflecting the sun. The chirping birds and their rainbow coloured flutter. It's somehow too much and at the same time deafeningly like nothing.

A yearning wakes in her. For Serenity's grey walls. For the simple wooden table in the mess. For green overalls. For the hum of the engines, for the ship's heartbeat. For the black, endless and silent, enveloping her in its velvety arms. Just now, she'd give up all this brilliance and splendour for her hammock in the engine room. There she'd drift to sleep lulled by the hum of the spinners.

In the black all things would be clear. In the black she'd find herself again.


	6. The Burden Of Sad Sayings

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Sad Sayings

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

And I can't stop, not that I've been really trying she thinks.

"How long has it been since your last confession, my child?"

She'd gone to confession only three times in her life. Or what used to be her life.

"Ten years, three months…give a week or two."

The priest with his wide green eyes is surprised, but if so, does not show it. Only smiles kindly. He reminds her of Book just then and she wonders if they are all trained to have these conciliatory smiled. His is genuine. She wonders if his own kindness makes him repulsed from time to time.

"You come for forgiveness child?"

She wants to run. But her feet are leaden and won't move.

"No. Yes. I don't know."

His wrinkled hand rests lightly on top of hers. The touch sears, but somehow she remains still, doesn't pull away.

"Tell and old man your story. Only the good lord can forgive us our transgressions. Best a man can do is listen and not judge."

Somehow those words choke her. She's not one for tears, they've been burned out of her a long way back. Last time she cried was the last time she went to confession. But both tears and words flow out of her now.

"I had…a son. Buried now."

She looks in his face for the obligatory condolence. He doesn't say a word. She doesn't know how she begins. Which part is the real beginning? She tells of Serenity. Of a man brave enough to love her. Of a life that somehow made sense when it didn't. Of family, of love. Of a chance at survival fought for long after the war ended. She tells of a child who had his father's eyes and his mother's smile. A sturdy little boy who liked to laugh.

The words choke her, but the shepherd does not interrupt. And somehow, words that would never ease their way out of her, tumble out.

She speaks words of sorry and love. Words of despair and pain. Words of coming and leaving. Beginnings and endings. Nightmares. Miracles.

"His name was Ezekiel."

It's the first time she'd said his name out loud in over a decade.

It's only a whisper, but it's the bravest thing she's ever done.


	7. The Burden Of Four Seasons

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Four Seasons

Time passes. That's all that can be said for it.

He counts times by its years and is surprised by the accumulation. Springs of vaccinations, births. Summers of hay fever and dust coughs. Falls of colds and kidney diseases. Winters of broken bones and gun wounds.

These are the markers of time for a general physician.

He remembers life by the sicknesses he treated. Letting each guide his memory to where he was at the time and who with. He blesses the universe for having Kaylee in his life. Sometimes in the solitude of his office he counts time. Most of it leaves him smiling. Some of it makes him cry.

Inara left at the end of summer and he forever thinks of august sunlight as the dimming light in Mal's eyes. River and Jayne married in Spring and for him it is a dubious season of unsettling surprises and clear memory of his sister's palpable happiness. His own wedding was in winter and he remembers it by white snow and cornflower blue skies and the way the brilliant sun caught in Kaylee's hair.

Fall is a memory of funerals. Not the season's fault. Is what it is. First Book and then the little boy he'd brought into the world and could not save. Fall is funerals and Zoe's tearful anger.

He doesn't know why his memory is tied to the seasons. Just is. As if each quarter of the year gives memory colour and texture. As if the scenes of his life are painted in greens and white and browns and golds.


	8. The Burden Of Dead Faces

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Dead Faces

She loves the ocean. Loves its constancy and it's great void. Apart from the black, the ocean in what she finds most calming. They've built a life for themselves here. It isn't the life her parent had wanted for her. Nor the life the academy almost convinced her she would never have.

But they had built a home here, on the edge of this world. Time passed and she takes stock. Surprisingly, for all its cruel twists of fate, her life has been kind and rewarding. She married Jayne. Because she knew he loved her before he knew himself and she knew too that he would die for her. She almost thought it inevitable. But it hasn't turned that way. She survived herself.

The sun sinks deeper into the horizon. She was surprised to find herself enjoying retirement. Thirty five did not an old woman make, but if once could retire, then why not? Besides, if she were honest with herself she'd admit the job began killing her a while back.

She never saw herself as the monster the academy told her she was. It just so happened that there were people in verse in need of being dead and she brought with her death quick as lightning.

So what if she took money for their deaths? She deserved a right to live. Her and Jayne deserved a right to be happy. So she chose her jobs and she killed the monsters.

It had all started after Miranda. Suddenly there was clarity in her mind where before only confusion reigned. And in that new found clarity lived the faces of the men and women who had made her their experiment. Made countless others lab rats, like her.

Business was better after Miranda, less hiding, more money. But there was still more money in killing off these sons of bitches. And a modicum of pleasure. Of a job well done.

She had now qualms about it. They made her a living weapon, she just showed them how good a job they'd done.

Jayne caught her sneaking around. Caught her after a hunting night, with blood on her hands and the smell of blood on her skin. He didn't ask her a single question. Just told her to shower. She knew he loved her then. They married soon after and together made their way through the world.

They'd made a pact that she'd stop before she became what the soul-eyes doctors and shrinks of the Academy had always said she was.

River Tam Cobb counts the passage of time by dead faces. Some loved, some detested, all carefully catalogued in her head.

The first to be hunted was Nathaniel Ko and her knife slid through him like butter. She remembered he liked using knives. His death was almost a tribute. A student outshining the master. She remembers the cold winter on Bellerophon spent in hunting Doctor Zimev. He'd been particularly wily, but in the end predictable. He died as much from surprise that she'd found him as from his broken neck.

No compassion lives in her for these deaths.

But there are other faces, beloved and familiar that mark the passing of time. Shepherd Book. Ezekiel. There are faces and names she hardly remembers, hardly knows that are meaningful to her. All those boys and girl who had been in the academy with her. So many dead, So many she could not get out.

She watches her husband tying off their boat at the shore.

He'd let her name it. Jiu En. She always said it is named for him.

River Tam Cobb is not a sentimental woman, but she counts her blessings with grace. Jayne, on a best day, is not a perfect human being. Neither is she.

But salvation takes on many forms.

Jiu En – salvation (Mandarin)


	9. The Burden Of Much Gladness

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The Burden Of Much Gladness

As far as the eye can see, the ocean reaches. He likes taking the boat out near sunset when the water is a peculiar colour of green silver. Jayne Cobb is not a sentimental man, but he counts his blessings with grace. He never did dream that he would make it to middle age. Not many a merc did.

He could say with perfect certainty that life surprised him only once when he found himself in love with River. There was no rhyme, no reason. He loved her, that's all he knew. It was enough. He was never one for complex pondering.

He was pleased to discover that he loved his life. Sure you can take the trade away from the merc, but you can't take a merc outta' the trade. But he sure did find a nice alternative. River was right, there were people who needed to be dead. And there were those who still paid handsomely to see it done.

He never did have his wife's artfulness but he gained satisfaction from doing his job well. His ma always said a man has to have pride in his work, otherwise he's just a good dog waiting for his treat. Jayne Cobb was no one's dog.

Granted, at times he wished that he did not have to live and love the life of blood and blade and bone. But each man got his lot and he was all right with this being his. He was a man particularly suited to the task.

The boat glided on the water, easing into the shoreline, smooth as a sharp knife.

All their tomorrows started today. Wasn't half bad a life. Hell, it practically made him giddy.

He ties off the boat and pauses to look up to the hill, towards the house.

She stands there, long hair flying wild. The dying light washes over her and she glows.

He never did see anything so beautiful.


	10. The End

Disclaimer: The characters depicted are the property of their respective owners who are not me.

A/N: This is just a bit of frivolity to get through the crippling writers block, so that I can finish The Promise.

The idea arrived after reading "A Ballad Of Burdens" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

This story is un-beta-ed, please forgive it its many faults.

Reviews are manna.

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The End

Eighteen Years Ago

He knew he would die. Wasn't surprising, what with the gaping whole in his body. He heard them coming. Too late as usual.

He didn't want to die alone.

"Hang on Shepherd."

There was no point, but he knew better that to say otherwise.

Time slowed. Looking into Mal's eyes, he prayed that the man would allow himself happiness. He had so much to say, but words would not form. Protect each other. Love. Be truthful. And maybe you can save yourselves. And maybe your souls too. Don't forget to love. There's nothing stronger in the 'verse. Forgive each other. Live. Words did not form.

He didn't like this, this dying. Too mundane, too real. Ferry me home, Lord.

But even now the lord was taking his time. Book had time. Didn't he?

"River…"

So much to say, to impart, to ask forgiveness for, but breathing was too hard. Thought was impossible.

Perhaps if he had more time he could explain how they had made his life somehow…more. Or tell them that they were strong and would survive. That regimes ended, and new ones begun, it was the cycle of the world.

Or that he prayed for them. But words would not come.

For all the ills and wrongs and hurts of his life the last thought that faded from his mind was that life always seems staggeringly beautiful at the end.

This is the end of every man's desire.


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